The Checkpoint

The checkpoint reeked of exhaust fumes.

Salim didn't think a checkpoint needed to be anything particularly fancy, but the shadow cast over the parched earth by the skeletal arch loomed ahead fifty-something meters in the air. The electric poles standing tall on either side of the road held flags familiar to everyone but the country herself. The Guards were not revolting to look at… until they started to talk.

Jamil didn't agree. "It has a nice charm that I don't think you appreciate,” he said, but the blond, perfectly-jawed man could fool anyone except Salim. "There are very few instances in history that physically represent defiance and activism like a checkpoint does.”

If Salim needed a physical reminder of activism against the Guards, all he had to do was follow Jamil around. But there was no point arguing in a car. If there was one thing he'd learned from his father before he passed away, it's that you don't get into an argument with your loved one while on the road. You only do it when there is a clear exit, an easy escape out.

There was definitely no way out of a checkpoint, only through.

The Guard standing by the side of the road waved for Salim to lurch the car forward. He was a big, burly man, the bulletproof vest under the uniform adding a few extra kilograms. He was clean-shaven, as were all the Guards, and completely bald. A scar painted his left cheek–but he was not still bad to look at, Salim thought as he rolled his window down.

"Where you headed, boys?" His voice was stern, but not as loud as the giant machine gun shifting from one hand to the other.

"The mountains," Salim responded, clearing his throat. He tried desperately to make eye contact, but kept shifting to the weapon or to his own reflection in the side mirror. His salt-and-pepper scruff had grown a little longer than he’d liked yet his eyes looked well-rested.

"’Mountains’, huh?" The Guard chuckled, hunching down to sneak a peek at the passenger seat.

Jamil simply smiled back, nodding along and hopefully thinking the same thing Salim was. Just let us pass, Guard. Just let us pass.

"Y'got some ladies waitin' for ya up there?" The Guard showed a couple of teeth--or at least the ones that were still there, anyway.

"You know it." Salim stretched a smile so wide, he thought his jaw was about to break.

The Guard considered them a little closer, heavily breathing over Salim's neck like zankha. He grunted and Salim hoped his fast-beating heart wasn't as loud as he thought. From the driver's seat, he could feel the lack of tension in Jamil’s posture. Rarely was Jamil the type of person that would be stressed out in any situation, but Salim thought this warranted at least a little bit of tension.

"IDs and car registration, yalla."

As if on cue, Salim reached for the glove compartment, dread clenching his gut. He grabbed his driver's license and the car registration, both of which were folded neatly in the compartment, easily accessible from the driver’s seat. If he looked closely, he could even see his fingerprints all over the papers from when he grabbed them yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that…

"And the pretty boy?" The Guard nodded towards Jamil.

"Why do you need to see my ID?" Jamil asked, smiling widely from the passenger seat like a kid on a rollercoaster.

Salim conjured up nightmarish thoughts of all the ways the two of them were going to get killed there. Hanged from the arch in the middle of the freeway? Electrocuted by the poles on the side of the road? Shot in every body part with the Guard’s massive machine gun?

"What do you mean ‘why do I need to see your ID’? Who do you think you're talking to, pretty boy?" The Guard raised his voice to match the speed of Salim’s heartbeats.

"He didn't mean that. Sorry, Guard." Salim felt cold sweat on his forehead as he looked through the rearview mirror. Cars were starting to pile up behind them, waiting for their turn like a grocery checkout line.

"Jamil, just grab your ID and hand it over to the lovely Guard, will you?"

Reluctance spread over Jamil's face, but he eventually complied. Annoyed with how long it took to get there, the Guard stared longingly at the two identification cards in his hands and grunted, nodding his head slowly. "So. Salim and Jamil, huh? Farha w Marha."

"That's what they call us," Jamil replied with a thin smile.

The Guard flipped through the IDs like he found something incriminating, something to make Salim's heart drop. "I see from your IDs here that you both come from different...beliefs."

The question felt as loaded as the gun in his hands. Was he getting suspicious? Or just curious? The ever-growing line of cars behind them was becoming far worse, and Salim wondered how many of those drivers called them f-slurs for taking so long.

"Glad to see you can read, soldier," snorted Jamil under his breath.

The Guard's eyes grew three times their normal size and Salim could've sworn his heart stopped beating in that moment. "That's enough from you, pretty boy. You boys are trouble and, worst of all, completely disrespectful to your Guards."

"No-no, Guard, we didn't mean any--"

“Where’re you even comin’ from, ‘nyway?”

“The hustle and bustle of the city, sir.” Salim tried desperately to keep his pounding heart inside his chest as he heard Jamil next to him snort in disgust.

The Guard studied them for another agonizing moment, then a flicker of something that perhaps could have been amusement crossed his features. He flicked the IDs in their faces–one which Salim caught in his hands, the other tumbled between the seats. “Imma need you to pull up to the side of the road there and pop up that trunk o’ yours. Will need to do a full checkpoint inspection to you bad-mouthers.”

Every word was somehow more hard-hitting than the next. Salim wondered if he could manifest the ground opening up and swallowing him whole, if he’d thought long and hard enough.

"All we had to do is be quiet and pass through the checkpoint," Salim whispered as he pulled up to the side, his sweaty palms gripping the steering wheel so hard he was certain it left its marks on him. "Why couldn't you just do that?"

"That's not living." Jamil sighed from the passenger seat. He looked out the back window to check for the Guard's arrival before he placed a hand on Salim's shoulder. "I'm ready to live."

"In order to do that, we need to fucking survive first and you absolutely know that."

Jamil looked him directly in the eyes, the hazel mirroring between them like a storm cloud reflecting a bolt of lightning. "Well, maybe I'm ready to risk it all."

"I'M NOT!" Salim shrieked, pushing Jamil's hand off him as the car came to a complete stop. "I don't want to get killed in the name of a cause! I refuse to be the poster boy—the one people will call a martyr like my dad was, the one future generations will look at and see a lesson learned in what changed the course of history—just so two men could hold hands and spend the rest of their lives together in the mountains."

"I'm ready to be all of that. I want, more than anything, to push buttons… to demonstrate to these motherfucking ignorants, standing on the side of the road blindly following orders, that we exist in this country, in this world. I’m ready to do something about it; why aren’t you?"

Salim gulped. "See, all I want is to just hold hands and spend the rest of our lives together in the mountains."

He let the silence hang heavy in the air between them. This wasn’t their first fight–far from it, but it was the first fight in which a heavy machine gun was a mere few centimeters away.

Meanwhile, the Guard shook hands with his replacement, someone who looked exactly like him, right down to the scar, gun and muscular-looking body. "He's about to cross the road and look at every single piece of luggage we have in our car, every little tiny detail of our lives until he finds what he wants to find."

"Well, we will just sit here quietly until he doesn't find anything," Salim said.

"Salim," Jamil winced, squeezing his hand tightly. "He knows."

"You don't know that!"

"He saw that we're from different religions, Salim. Tell me, when was the last time someone like him has seen two men on opposite sides of the war in a car full of luggage just strutting along to the mountains? What else could it be?" Jamil stated. "We can run away."

Salim's eyes darted to meet Jamil’s, and he immediately said, "You're crazy!"

"He gave us our IDs back and you're still in the driver's seat. All you have to do is turn on that engine…”

"Jamil, don't."

"...and we can get out of here in 15 seconds. He wouldn't have a chance."

"He knows what we look like!"

The Guard began crossing the road, glancing towards their direction every chance he got. There were three lanes of cars to clear before he could appear beside their car.

"He's not going to remember our names, Salim, come on!"

Salim covered his forehead, leaning his head back with his heart hammering furiously, threatening to burst out of his chest. His palms, slick with sweat, hovered over the keys still clutched in the engine slot.

"Salim, do you trust me?"

He nodded feverishly.

"Do you love me?"

Salim looked at him with eyes that had swollen and tears that ran down his cheeks. The Guard passed the second lane of traffic. All that separated him from their car was one lane he'd have to cross. Just one lane.

Salim's swollen eyes welled with additional tears as he watched the Guard cross the second lane of traffic. Only one lane separated him from their car.

"I do. I love you."

"I love you too, habibi." Jamil kissed his lover's hand and squeezed tight. "But it's either now or never."

With a swift turn, Salim's gaze shifted out the window. In the neighboring lane, just within sight from the driver's seat, was the Guard. Salim assumed an upright posture and met the Guard's stare with an unwavering gaze. Jamil, in contrast, turned his body in his seat, his eyes flashing with open defiance.

Before he knew it, Salim slammed his foot on the gas pedal, the engine roaring to life. The car lurched forward, tires squealing as they pelt out of the checkpoint. Jamil let out a whoop of joy, the wind whipping through his hair.

When Salim finally dared look through the rearview mirror again, all he could see was their own exhaust fumes.